


talk me down

by Sisterlyparrot



Category: Chinese Actor RPF, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, BJYX | Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan | Sean is Real, Based On a Troye Sivan Song, Emotionally Repressed, Feelings, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Repressed Memories, Slow Burn, Troye Sivan References, Yizhan - Freeform, did i write a fic as therapy? perhaps, xiao zhan is the kindest man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28901436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sisterlyparrot/pseuds/Sisterlyparrot
Summary: so come over now and talk me down//troye sivanIt won’t shrink back in on itself, no matter how hard he tries. Not if Yibo is still there, every day, croaking with laughter and throwing swear words and stupid compliments and snacks at him.a story about xiao zhan learning to open himself up to the love that others giveset (loosely) during cql filming
Relationships: Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan | Sean
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	1. 3am shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lickrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lickrish/gifts).



> Individual chapters have specific CWs but pls get in touch if you need more info

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xiao Zhan says, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’ and he doesn’t recognise his own voice. He wonders if he’s ever really noticed what it’s like to have a body before now, before someone wanted him enough to touch.
> 
> //Xiao Zhan has been ignoring his feelings for far too long, and the first month of training and shooting for the Untamed has been worse than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cause you know that I can't trust myself with my 3AM shadow  
> I'd rather fuel a fantasy than deal with this alone  
> //Troye Sivan
> 
> CW this has a flashback/memory of teenagers kissing, nothing inappropriate tho!  
> CW for an anxiety attack and implied homophobia.

Xiao Zhan sits on his hotel bed, cross-legged, sitting back against his pillows. It’s uncomfortable. The first few nights it was all he could think about, his body sinking into the cheap foam, his brain resolutely focusing on the sensation in his spine and refusing to acknowledge the pressure of this project, the worry about how censorship might affect it, the feeling right under his ribs whenever –

No. He shakes his head, rubs his eyes. Tries to focus on the script in front of him. Two weeks into shooting, and tomorrow they film the scene in the cold cave with all those rabbits. It’s new for the series and honestly he really likes all the symbolism in it, with the forehead ribbon wrapping round their wrists and the way Lan Zhan and Wei Ying look at each other. Wang Yibo will be showing off his usual micro-expressions, conveying five emotions at once from just widening his eyes or pursing his lips minutely. It’s incredible. Xiao Zhan hopes he can learn to act like that. He looks up to the mirror on the opposite wall, and frowns slightly. Does he look furious? No. Yibo would, or could if he wanted to, he thinks, and that unknown feeling rises again, the way it has several times a day for a month. He pushes it down, yet again, refusing to make the connection. It’s just anxiety. He picks up his highlighter. Focus. He has to remember the lines. It’s what he’s good at.

-

He sleeps badly that night. Something about the last few weeks, that feeling he refuses to recognise, has been nagging at him. He’s always been good at compartmentalising, good at focusing on what’s in front of him, good at politely turning down dates and ignoring his crushes, giving his all to the job and his fans. He wears it as a badge of honour, or at least he did when he was at university working on sketches and assignments at 4am, or in the early days of X-Nine, sweating alone in a practice room, going over dance steps again and again. He’s 27 now, and it’s finally catching up with him. He’s seeing it in how he becomes frayed at the edges after a long shoot, the lines between his self and his character smudging into one another. He’s seeing it in how a wonderful day, a great week, still finds him suddenly sobbing in the shower, overwhelmed by feelings he’s ignored for so long. Feelings he doesn’t understand and doesn’t want to because he’s scared that if he allows them in, if he lets down his guard even a little, he will never be the same again. It’s too hard to admit that the wonderful day was because of the person you spent it with than the scenery you saw or the food you ate. Everyone feels crap sometimes, he reasons with himself, and after all this way he can stay cheery, stay professional, keep up his polite and friendly persona –

Persona? Shit. He hadn’t realised he’d fallen that far away from himself.

He checks his phone. It’s 2.56am.

Fuck. He sighs into the darkness, tracing the shadowy lines of the hotel ceiling with his eyes. Maybe it’s okay to think about it a bit now. After all, if it’s enough that he can’t sleep then it’ll affect the way he acts tomorrow, and that’s not fair on Yi- everyone. He closes his eyes, trying to empty his mind and localise that feeling. Yibo swims into view yet again and he frowns, pushing the image away. He’s not thinking about work right now. He sighs again. The hum of the air conditioner seems louder, and he sinks into the sound, the mattress, the darkness, forcing himself to feel that feeling.

It’s horrible.

There’s something tight around his heart, and he can feel his feet getting cold and clammy. Suddenly he sits upright in the darkness, and it’s clear as day. He buries his head in his hands, pulling at handfuls of his hair to ground himself, to distract himself, anything to take the focus off the cold panic spreading across his shoulders.

Deep breaths.

He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, automatically trying to stop the memory. It feels even worse to hold it in somehow, even though it’s been 10 years and it’s been held in just fine, thank you. He blinks away a tear, breathes again, lets go of his hair. Maybe it’s time.

-

He can see the memory, hazy and melting into darkness at the edges. He can see himself, age 13, walking home from school, keeping to the route he would still be able to follow now without a second thought. Left out of the school gates, along the main road, onto the metro for 6 stops, off, left again, right – why wasn’t he turning right? Suddenly the memory sharpens, and he realises he’s not alone. He swears under his breath. It’s that day.

He watches the two boys walking, swinging their bags, their shirts coming untucked and their laughter – well, at the time he doesn’t remember it being any different to usual but looking at them now, he wonders if it’s maybe a little tense, a little electric. They keep wandering, into the big park near their homes. They don’t discuss it, but they head to the little wooded area where they usually go at the weekend to skip homework and play games. It’s summer, and they flop down on the grass, comfortable in their patch. Nobody else seems to come here. The heat has worn them out, and they just lie for a while, pulling apart leaves, swapping school gossip, watching the breeze in the branches above them. Xiao Zhan holds his breath.

The boys are quiet. Suddenly one of them speaks – Xiao Zhan knows it’s him, but it feels so detached, so apart from himself he can hardly bear it – and the other boy is turning to look at him, face almost impenetrable but shoulders juddering ever so slightly with every rise and fall of his breath.

‘I think I’m in love with you’, he says abruptly. Xiao Zhan cringes to hear it. He was 13, what did he know about love? Who did he think he was to say this, aloud, to his best friend, with no prompting or explanation? The silence was deafening then and it is now, the blood thundering in his ears and the rustle of the grass under his friend’s shoulder all he can hear. He wonders if he’s breathing. He hasn’t thought about this for at least 10 years, but for a long time after it happened he would replay this feeling, this anticipation that felt like sherbet in his veins and ice on his skin, every second he could. He knows what comes next, but it feels like an age before it happens. Xiao Zhan takes a deep breath, and lets himself slide further into the memory.

-

His eyes are closed. He can feel the leaf he was shredding between his fingers, the coolness of his sweat pressed against the shirt on his back. He can feel that panic, hope, shame, confusion, and as much heartache as it’s possible for a privileged 13 year old to feel, bubbling away inside his chest. Why did he say that? He knows his friend has a girlfriend, though he’s not sure he’s actually ever seen them interact. He tightens his fists. It’s been silent too long. That’s all the answer he needs. He’ll go home, and tomorrow he can just say he wasn’t feeling well, or something equally obvious, and it’ll all be okay.

It’s not exactly sunny under the trees, but the light through his eyelids darkens suddenly and before he can register what’s happening there’s a soft, gentle, whisper of breath on his cheek. Something touches his forehead, just barely, and he realises it’s a nose. It moves down to his temple, and Xiao Zhan is frozen, utterly frozen. He can’t move. He can hardly breathe. The nose is so soft against the skin by his eye, and he can feel the peach fuzz on his friend’s face. His friend shifts again and then there are lips touching his face, so gently that every nerve in his skin is on fire. He doesn’t know how long he lies there, his friend’s lips on his cheeks, his eyelids, his jaw, moving almost imperceptibly, never kissing, just stroking, just being, their warm breaths hitching. It’s too much to bear, and he tells himself that his friend is just being nice, maybe he’s just lonely, maybe he’s bored, maybe he’s playing chicken. He’s hyper-aware that his friend is avoiding his lips, but then he’s hesitating at the corner of his nose for half a second and then their mouths are touching and it feels like someone has set a fire in his stomach. Even now, neither of them move. Xiao Zhan breathes through the thought that if he moves, everything will end, and he gently, terrified, purses his lips. His friend doesn’t move in response, but he doesn’t move away either. Xiao Zhan kisses him again, and this time it’s undeniably a kiss, and his friend kisses back, and the fire in his stomach burns harder.

There is a creeping prickly feeling across his lower back, and he knows he needs his friend to hold him, touch his skin, but he can still barely move. The kisses are so soft, so gentle, their mouths barely open, exploring each other’s lips, peach fuzz catching peach fuzz. He wants this moment to last forever. Their lips open a little further, and he feels himself running his tongue over the corner of his friend’s mouth before there’s another shift, and their tongues touch and the shock of it runs all the way to his toes. They’re still both lying unmoving, their hands curled up in front of their chests as if to protect themselves from what they’re doing, the fear of what could come next. He’s so close to crying and he doesn’t know why. Surely this is perfect? His heart hurts. His back still feels prickly. He doesn’t want to stop but he also wants nothing more than to stop, to hear his friend say I love you too, to finally look in his eyes and see if this is real.

His watch beeps. It’s 6.00pm. He has to be home for tutoring in fifteen minutes. They both pull away at the sound, almost guilty, panic on their faces. They stare almost at each other, focusing intently on one another’s ears, flushed cheeks, reddened lips. When they catch each other’s eyes it almost hurts. Xiao Zhan says, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’ and he doesn’t recognise his own voice. He wonders if he’s ever really noticed what it’s like to have a body before now, before someone wanted him enough to touch. His friend nods, and he grabs his bag and walks away, every part of his body feeling like it’s floating apart from itself.  
All he can do that night is lie in the dark, feeling those lips on his cheek and trying not to vibrate out of his own skin with the hope and fear of it all.

-

Xiao Zhan blinks his eyes open in the darkness. He doesn’t want to go on. He doesn’t want to remember the note slipped into his hand on the metro the next morning, the way his friend walked away as he opened it to read ‘I just want to be normal. I can’t do this again’. He doesn’t want to think about the way his friend’s eyes flickered down to his lips every time they spoke, the way their bodies always found their way back to one another at every party, every sleepover, every trip to the movies, those gentle kisses repeating in the dark over and over and over and those cold rejections following every time, Xiao Zhan giving up another little piece of himself with every rebuff until he wasn’t sure what was left of him anymore.

He lies back, finding the soft mattress a comfort for the first time. He feels sick. First loves are never fun or easy, he reasons with himself, and he’s had dates since then, it’s not like it ruined him. Dates only with women, a little voice reminds him, and another quick memory flashes back; his college girlfriend, the only one he ever told about the kiss, looking at him curiously and asking, ‘so… are you bi?’ and Xiao Zhan, furious with her and himself for reasons he doesn’t understand, snapping a curt no because leaving it in the past, categorising it as an anomaly is safer. It’s just… safer.

Besides, he’s busy right now. He’s working. He doesn’t need these memories, he doesn’t need to think about how every kiss of the last ten years has felt robotic, automatic, nothing but raw sexual energy radiating from his core and the hollow pit in his stomach when it ended. He closes his eyes, and pulls up the blanket. He’s cold, his t-shirt damp from sweat and the comedown from his anxiety making him shiver.

Wang Yibo’s face flashes across his vision again, and Xiao Zhan frowns, again. Go away, Yibo, he thinks, before that cold finger of anxiety strokes his neck again. What was he thinking before the flashback? That feeling. He was trying to isolate it, understand it. He can still feel it now, the tension in his diaphragm and that prickle across his back that just hasn’t left for a month. His breath catches in his throat and another wave of nausea hits him. His skin often feels like it’s crawling, it’s one of his anxiety symptoms, but as he squeezes his eyes tighter and remembers that kiss it’s the exact same, the tingle across the base of his spine as if someone was stroking the skin above his waistband over and over. He feels like he’s drowning.

Is this it? The whole reason he’s felt off for a month? He’s enjoyed Yibo’s company these last few weeks of training and setting up and shooting, that’s for sure. Their friendship has come easily, laughter and playfighting echoing around whatever room they’re in. Xiao Zhan has to admit it surprised him, both from his own usual reservedness around new people and Yibo’s reputation for being aloof with his co-stars. He sighs. There’s months of filming left. He really doesn’t want to be attracted to someone who famously does not have much time for other people, he does not want to be attracted to his closest colleague, and he especially does not want to be attracted to a man given the precarity of his career. Cold panic spreads over his shoulders again. He knows, deep down, that he’s had several crushes over the years but his experience with his friend, the homophobia at school and university, the censorship laws, his status as an eligible idol… It’s always just been so much easier to focus on work, focus on friends, focus on helping people.

Deep breaths.

He knows some of the other cast are gay, or bi, or at least interested. He’s pretty sure he’s caught Liu Haikuan and Zhu Zanjin making eyes at each other more than once. It’s a fairly closed set, not that much BTS filming, and they’re all living together for the time being anyway. Also, Yibo definitely doesn’t have a girlfriend. He swears out loud. Why is he making a pros list for confessing his love to his best friend again?

He shakes his head into the pillow. His eyes are heavy. At least now he feels some relief. He’s figured out the feeling. That box is ticked. He can tidy it away for another day, and tomorrow he can act properly and focus on the job. Maybe this is a summer for growth, and hope. One step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more chapters! As a baby gay who had ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶a̶m̶e̶ a similar experience to what I wrote here, the way XZ and Yibo are with each other really reminds me of hiding my relationship as a teen and I was drawn to write about that journey from Xiao Zhan's perspective.


	2. home is just a room full of my safest sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His snoozed alarm breaks his peaceful silence, shocking him back to reality, this hotel room, this project, these feelings, this job, Yibo, Yibo, Yibo, everything piling in on top of each other until it’s too loud, everything is so loud in his head and his ears, and he realises his alarm is still playing. He switches it off.
> 
> // Xiao Zhan learns more about what he wants by using his terrible collection of questionable coping techniques

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna come home to you  
> But home is just a room full of my safest sounds  
> //Troye Sivan 
> 
> Xiao Zhan is still having a lot of anxiety and a lot of gay panic, who knew?  
> Feat. annoyingly perky Yu Bin and absolute fuckboi Ji Li and baby Zheng Fanxing bc I love the whole damn cast
> 
> CW for more anxiety and emotional repression  
> If the pictures don't work for you, the thread with them all in order is here: https://twitter.com/crochetparrot/status/1362179256097398787  
> A note on dates and timings - I know Yibo didn't go to Paris during CQL filming but I came across a picture of him and it all just slotted into place, and I know all the pictures of him are not from the exact same time. And as always filming schedules are totally at random.

Xiao Zhan wakes to the sound of knocking. He grunts, confused and sleepy, knowing his door is always unlocked for times like this, and Yu Bin bounds into his room, giggling at the sight of Xiao Zhan’s messy hair and messy bed. ‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d have said you had someone here last night!’ Yu Bin laughs, leaning against the corner of the bathroom wall where it juts out into the room. Xiao Zhan winces. ‘But honestly, did you sleep through your alarm? I was worried when you weren’t first to breakfast. Good thing I decided to check, so you’re welcome! There’s still 45 minutes before the bus leaves, I brought you some congee, and don’t forget your fan this time! I need mine for myself!’ He plonks a polystyrene tub down on the desk, winks, bounds out of the room, just as chirpy as when he came in, and the door slams.

Silence.

Xiao Zhan blinks for a second, a shaft of sunlight across the mirror catching his eye. He’s anxious. Seems normal. He lifts his hands to his hair, and is hit with a wave of musk, the dried sweat from last night making his skin itch and his t-shirt stink. Shower, he thinks, and stumbles to the bathroom.

The water is peaceful, the steady predictability of the sensation on his skin soothing and grounding him. He closes his eyes under the stream. As the sweat washes from his skin, he imagines the anxiety washing away too, streaming down his body, spinning round the plughole, and disappearing down the drain.

It doesn’t work.

He sighs, and starts to scrub shampoo through his hair. Why did he have to let himself _think_ last night? It’s so tiring when it happens, his whole body feeling heavy and wrong the day afterwards, his mind working slowly and just… wrong. He’s not entirely sure what happened. He remembers the memory, that much is for certain. A sudden picture of leaves against a blue sky flashes across his vision and he shakes his head, hard. Not again. Not now. Deep breaths. He rinses the shampoo from his hair, and steps out, reaching for his towel, and wrapping it round his waist.

He stares at himself in the mirror as he brushes his teeth. His eyelids are heavy, and there’s considerably more purple in the curve under his eyes than normal. At least he’ll be getting makeup on his face anyway, the makeup artists can forgive him this once, he thinks, and spits.

As he walks back into the room, reaching for his underwear, his phone lights up. He lifts a foot to put his boxers on and stumbles, landing heavily on the bed as he sighs and pulls them up. His phone lights up again. He reaches for it, automatically turning off the now-silent alarm, long-played out. Yet another notification pops up.

Yibo.

**Wang Yibo** : omg look at this Zhan-ge

**Wang Yibo** : you’d love this view right?? i’m only here a few days but i’ll take pics for u if u want

 **Wang Yibo** : don’t have too much fun without me tho ok ge-ge, if u start beating up yu bin instead of me i’ll get jealous 😈😈😈

 **Wang Yibo** : ugh my manager saw me being active on weibo and is yelling at me to sleep bc it’s 1am and i have meetings and shit so early ughhhhhhhh but it’s 8am for u right? anyway have a good day Zhan-ge!!!!! don’t forget to eat!!!!

 **Wang Yibo** : if u want anything from paris u just need to let me know ok

 **Wang Yibo** : 😴😴😴😴😴😴😴😴😴

Xiao Zhan stares at his phone. He forgot Yibo was leaving for a few days. A week, he thinks. He feels suddenly relieved. And something else. If he stopped to think about it, he could probably name that feeling as bereft, but stopping to think about what he's feeling is a skill Xiao Zhan has worked hard not to have. He scrolls back up to see the picture again, the sky grey with rolling clouds, the buildings stark and crisp, Yibo looking windswept and Paris looking beautiful.

Yibo looking beautiful.

That swift clench in his gut hits him again, as every thought from last night washes through him. He wants Yibo. He slams his phone onto the bed and lets out an empty, dry sob.

What is he going to do? Realistically, he knows there’s months of filming left. He knows that if something happens and Yibo ends up hating him, or not caring at all which is somehow worse, then filming will be unbearable. He knows that now he’s let himself acknowledge these feelings, they won’t go away. It won’t shrink back in on itself, no matter how hard he tries. Not if Yibo is still there, every day, croaking with laughter and throwing swear words and stupid compliments and snacks at him. He shakes his ahead again, to dislodge that smile, that laugh, from his mind. Work. He must focus on work.

‘Look.’ He whispers under his breath, eyes screwed shut and fists in his lap, hair still damp from the shower. Sometimes, this is the only thing that helps, verbalising his thoughts to clear through the cloud in his head. Breaking down the feelings, one by one, logical reasoning a solid, comforting entity. ‘I don’t have to make it go away. I don’t have to act on it either. It can stay, if it must, but work has to come first. All the other actors, all the crew, the wardrobe staff, the runners, director – I can’t jeopardise all their hard work just for a stupid crush. That’s all it is. A crush. It’s natural. It’s normal. Yibo is just… a nice boy. He’s nice to all the cast. I don’t need to get like a lovesick teenager just because a handsome boy smiled at me. I’m older. I have responsibility. I can focus on work. I can.’

Deep breaths. He’ll be okay. He has made so many friends already, and he can concentrate on those relationships, and a few of the juniors are struggling with their scripts and their blocking so he can help them with that, and of course there’s his own acting to perfect and his dizi technique and his footwork. And Yibo isn’t here. At that he feels a twinge in his chest, knowing how far away he is, but it’s smaller now that his head is filled with other thoughts. Good. Keep focusing. Only a few more months.

There’s the sound of chatter going past his door and he realises there’s only five minutes until the bus. He swears and grabs the nearest clothes, pulling them on as he types with one hand.

**Xiao Zhan** : Wow have fun ok? Don’t work too hard, make sure you eat too~

~~

It works, for a while. He really does throw himself into his work, and the director comments on it after a particularly long shoot, how improved his sword grip is and how much more natural his reactions are. He finds himself bowing with gratitude, partly to the director and partly at the compliment, another thing to grasp onto and cherish that isn’t Yibo. He plays games with the cast, stupid competitions they can play without paper or pieces; slapping each other’s hands, or trying to knock each other over on one leg. Yibo usually initiates these games though, and in the dark silence of Xiao Zhan’s room at night, shocked by the realisation of how much these moments mean to him, he can’t help but wonder how Yibo would’ve cheated at Ji Li’s new game of Water Bottle Flip But With Swords, or think about how Yibo would have especially liked laughing at Xiao Zhan laughing at him for finding lunch today too spicy, or how one of the crew brought their dog back to visit, and playing over and over in his head Yibo, kneeling on the floor, getting his robes dusty and his face licked by a puppy, his cheeks pink and his eyes like starlight and calling ‘Zhan-ge! Look! He likes me!!’

He has fun. He helps the juniors, like he promised himself, going over lines with Zheng Fanxing, easing Fanxing’s nervousness with his gentle jokes as best he can. He buys tea for the crew. He practices. He works.

He finds himself rehearsing his lines in the mirror, just trying to improve his acting any way he can, somehow falling into micro-expressions as the best way to enhance his skill set. Finds himself adjusting the curl of his mouth or the set of his jaw over and over until it’s a muscle memory and the line is brought to life. He learns how to gently lift the corners of his eyes, barely moving his lips, yet the smile quietly radiating out of him in a way that almost disarms himself. He tries it out the next day in a scene, and Wang Zhuocheng laughingly asks if he’s been studying Yibo, and he feels instantly, excruciatingly, sick.

The sun is hot. He works.

No Yibo helps, although his daily Yibo-night/Xiao-Zhan-morning texts are achingly, painfully, joyful, and yet Xiao Zhan reaches for his phone as soon as he wakes, to see what Yibo did yesterday. There’s always a selfie. Sometimes there’s a view he thought Xiao Zhan would like, or some street art. Once there was a stuffed bunny a fan gave him, and he’d just sent a pic with like 12 heart eye emojis. Once or twice he sends photos from shoots, Yibo in high fashion and makeup and jewellery and looking like his main and only job is modelling.

~~

**Wang Yibo** : look what we shot today ge-ge, do i look handsome 🥺 i wanted to skateboard today but they wouldn’t let me!!! i miss the cql set

**\--**

**Wang Yibo** : i’ve been in so many meetings today and i wish i could come mess around with u

**Wang Yibo** : and everyone else ofc!!

 **Wang Yibo** : i hope u ate well today! my phone said it was hot in dongyang 🥵 🥵 🥵

**\--**

**Wang Yibo** : europe is so weird why does everyone kiss each other to say hi

 **Wang Yibo** : can u imagine if i just did that to you lolllll

\--

**Wang** **Yibo** : this tree gave me the creeps do u think its haunted lol

\--

**Wang Yibo** : i just want ramen ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh can’t wait to be back and eat crappy canteen congee

**\--**

**Wang Yibo** : only 2 days left, i hope Xiao-laoshi will be kind to me when he finds he has naturally surpassed me in his acting~~

 **Wang Yibo** : todays selfie brought to u by this tiny scooter they let me drive hehe

**\--**

**Wang Yibo** : back tomorrow ge-ge, prepare your fighting stance

 **Wang Yibo** : i bought u a present 🎁 🎁 🎁

~~

He wakes up, and automatically reaches for his phone. Just to turn off the alarm, he tells himself, though it’s a pretty relaxing ringtone and he’s been happy to let it play out plenty of times before. He presses snooze, just in case, and checks for notifications. A text from his mum, to remind him about some obscure uncle’s birthday, a weather update, some absolute nonsense about chickens in the cast group chat. No Yibo. He frowns a little, unintentionally, and opens their chat just to check, before remembering that Yibo returns today. He should be here by the afternoon, to prep for their night shoot. The tightness in his stomach transforms into something else, the heavy weight pressed inside him turning into something lighter, dancing over his diaphragm. There’s a warmth in his chest, and he allows himself a gratuitous moment of joy, closing his eyes and picturing Yibo bouncing into the makeup room, skateboard under his arm, converse laces coming untied, his eyes alight. 

His snoozed alarm breaks his peaceful silence, shocking him back to reality, this hotel room, this project, these feelings, this job, Yibo, Yibo, Yibo, everything piling in on top of each other until it’s too loud, everything is so loud in his head and his ears, and he realises his alarm is still playing. He switches it off.

Deep breaths.

One last shuddering intake, and he walks over to open the blind, open the window, closing his eyes in the sunlight and breathing in the air.

The plan. Remember the plan. He counts off the points on his fingers, breaking it down into manageable, neat sentences. It’s probably just a crush. Work comes first. Yibo is nice to everyone. Only a few months. It’s probably just a crush. Work comes first. Yibo is nice to everyone. Only a few months. 

Only a few months until what, the panic asks. Until what? He confesses? He never sees Yibo again? Both options make him want to hide under the bed until he’s old, curling in on himself to avoid any more hurt, any more uncertainty, so he pushes them both away, forcing himself to see the sunlight through his eyelids, smell the sweetness of dew evaporating, feel the hotel carpet under his feet. He doesn’t have to know what. He read that on the back of a self-help book, once, somewhere, and clung onto it ever since. He doesn’t know what the future holds, and he doesn’t have to. All he has to think about right now is work today, the script, the character, the blocking. Yibo will be back later and all he has to do is be a friend. Treat him like he treats Yu Bin, or Ji Li, or Wang Zhuocheng. He _is_ a friend. They’re friends. They can still be friends and nobody needs to know what he’s feeling. 

He goes for an extra long run, and has an extra long shower. The bus is leaving a couple of hours later today, due to the night shoot, and he makes the most of it, tidying his room, stacking his scripts neatly, making the bed, organising the bathroom. It’s when he’s folding his boxers into neat little squares that he thinks perhaps he’s overcompensating, and he goes in search of Yu Bin and Zhuocheng to goad them into a game of slaps. 

The day goes well, everyone in high spirits over lunch and the scene blocking afterwards, and Xiao Zhan is fine. He’s going to be absolutely fine.

**Wang Yibo** : 🛬🚕😋

Absolutely, completely, fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH to @lickrish for her reading and criticism and for making me an infinitely better writer and also my baby sister who will hopefully never find this online and see my bookmarks.
> 
> Chapter 3 is a-coming and Yibo is BACK baby
> 
> I would appreciate comments so so much! I want to know what you like best and what I can do better on!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I hope you enjoyed! This is my first ever fanfic!!! Would really appreciate comments and feedback!  
> Thanks so much to @lickrish for proofreading and advice.
> 
> The whole work is also really inspired by Talk Me Down by Troye Sivan, would v much recommend listening to it with XZ/Yibo in mind.


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